Until the mournful dusk begins To drop upon the quiet street, Until, upon the pavement far, There falls the sound of coming feet: A happy, hastening, ardent sound, Tender as kisses on the air-- Quick, as if touched by unseen lips Blushes the little statue there; And woman-like as young life is, And woman-like as joy may be, Tender with color, lithe with love, She starts, transfigured gloriously. Superb in one transcendent glance-- Her eyes, I see, are burning black-- My little neighbor, smiling, turns, And throws my unasked pity back. I wonder, is it worth the while, To sit and sew from hour to hour-- To sit and sew with eyes of black, Behind a pink geranium flower? BY THE HEARTH. You come too late; 'Tis far on in November. The wind strikes bleak Upon the cheek That careth rather to keep warm, (And where 's the harm?) Than to abate One jot of its calm color for your sake. Watch! See! I stir the ember Upon my lonely hearth and bid the fire wake. And think you that it will? 'T is burned, I say, to ashes. It smoulders cold As grave-yard mould. I wish indeed you would not blow Upon it so! The dead to kill. I say, the ghosts of fires will never stir, Nor woman lift the lashes Of eyes wept dim, howe'er yours shine for love of her! Ah, sweet surprise! did not think such shining Upon the gloom Of this cold room Could fall. Your even, strong, calm breath Calls life from death. The warm light lies At your triumphant feet, faint with desire To reach you. See! The lining Of violet and of silver in that sheath of fire! If you would care-- Although it is November-- I will not say A bitter nay To such a gift for building fires. And though it tires Me to think of it--I 'll own to you (If you can stir the ember) It may be found at last, just warm enough for two! TOLD IN CONFIDENCE. Vow you 'll never, never tell him! Freezing stars now glittering farthest, fairest on the winter sky; If he woo me, Not your coldest, cruel ray Or can or may Be found more chill and still to him than I. Swear you 'll never, never tell him! Warm, red roses lifting your shy faces to the summer dew; If he win me, Blush your sweetest in his sight For his delight, But I can be as warm and sweet as you. WHAT THE VIOLINS SAID. SONG. "We 're all for love," the violins said.--SIDNEY LANIER. Do I love you? Do I love you? Ask the heavens that bend above you To find language and to prove you If they love the living sun. Ask the burning, blinded meadows If they love the falling shadows, If they hold the happy shadows When the fervid day is done.